


Fall for You

by AttackoftheDarkCurses



Series: Attack's Short Fics (Under 15K) [9]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Femdom, Flirting, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Little plot, No Pregnancy, Praise Kink, Probably Mild Femdom, Self-Indulgent, Soft Ben Solo, Submissive Ben Solo, grad students
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:39:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26885251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AttackoftheDarkCurses/pseuds/AttackoftheDarkCurses
Summary: “I’m giving you space, and I’m being professional and polite, Mis—”“Don’t finish that sentence,” she snaps, glancing around the library to be sure nobody heard. “That’s incredibly inappropriate.”“I was going to sayMiss Kenobi,” he says lowly. “Interesting, where your mind went.”In which Rey falls in love with her fiancé over the course of a semester.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Attack's Short Fics (Under 15K) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567351
Comments: 146
Kudos: 907
Collections: Central Perk (Reylo) Fuckery, The Sub!Ben Collection





	Fall for You

**Author's Note:**

> This is pretty self-indulgent, don't expect a ton of plot 💜

The first time, the first little _spark_ or hint of it, is an accident; a thing blurted in anger.

Orange and scarlet leaves cover the ground, crunching under her shoes as she storms away from her University’s College of Humanities. Rey seethes in a way her adoptive grandfather would disapprove of.

She’d expected to run into him, eventually. Graduate students of the same study _do_ run in the same circles, but learning that Professor Holdo was taking on another teaching assistant a full month into the semester and they’d be working together was too much. Not that the extra hands won’t be appreciated, but do they need to be _his_ hands?

Rey stops mid-step on the cobblestone path, clenching her fist at his utter _nerve._ She came here to escape him, escape their seemingly predestined future. How dare he follow her?

It isn’t too late to apply elsewhere, she supposes. Take a semester off, run away—far, _far_ away from him and his honey-brown eyes and his stupid soft smiles and his adorably nerdy thick-rimmed glasses. It would be simpler.

“Kenobi?” he calls after her.

Rey starts walking again, subtly picking up the pace. Her heels click-clack on the cobblestone, and she tries to find the perfect balance between rushing enough to get away from him, and not walking so quickly her heels slip on leaf-covered stone. 

“Um, Kenobi, wait up! Just wanted to talk—”

It’s a balance she fails to strike. One heel twists in a way that promises a sore ankle, and she flails, stumbling backward.

Except she doesn’t.

He catches her around the waist, his hand pressing to her abdomen as he pulls her back against him and balances her. “Got you,” he mumbles. “Everything okay? You’re… in a rush, I take it.”

It’d be better if she was on the cobblestone. 

Rey takes half a minute to compose herself. While her back is still pressed back against him, his body heat somehow bleeding through his blazer and her gray pea coat, she catches her breath. Tries to quell the flickers of fury in her belly.

Without bothering to extricate herself, she turns in his hold and leans back against his arm, glowering up at _him—_ the heir to a publishing empire that is her own family’s only threatening competition, aside from First Order Publishing. Maybe if life were kinder, the Solo-Organas and Kenobis would have hated each other. But _no._ No, the Solo-Organas and Kenobis have spent years in talks of a merger. One that, for some _truly_ idiotic reason, their families hope will culminate in a wedding.

She glares up at his frustrating mop of hair, so dark it’s impossible to determine whether it’s deep brown or black, and she snarls, “Let go of me.”

Ben Solo, the one bane of her existence, the man she can probably never hope to be entirely rid of, _smiles._

“And here I thought we were supposed to be getting to know each other better.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not a chance.”

Briefly, his gaze flicks down to his own chest, where her hands are—frustratingly—braced. “Where’s my grandmother’s ring? Did it not fit properly? We can resize it if you need.”

“Nah. Tossed it.”

His face turns aghast, like she’s just committed the highest atrocity. “You _didn’t.”_

“You’re right,” she sighs. “I hocked it. Made _bank._ Your family may be insufferable but I suppose your grandmother at least had taste.”

Lowly, he murmurs a shaky, “ _Kenobi,”_ almost like he wants to challenge her, but doesn’t quite dare.

Rey rolls her eyes again. “That’s _Miss_ Kenobi, thank you. And fine. No, I didn’t. But I’m not wearing it, either. I don’t know what’s got you so pleased with this arrangement, but don’t assume I am.” Her mouth curls into a deeper scowl, and she wraps her fingers around the stupid, not-the-least-bit charming narrow tie. “And you’re not accepting Holdo’s offer. I don’t want you here; we both know you’ll get shoved down my throat plenty whenever I go home during breaks.”

The innuendo slips out and doesn’t go unmissed.

His mouth tilts, but he’s smart enough to know better than to comment. He doesn’t even comment on her blush.

He’s well-trained, at least.

Ben clears his throat. “I already accepted her offer. How could I not? She’s brilliant. Why wouldn’t I look forward to working with her? We both know how many people would want this position.”

“Literature? Really?” Rey blurts. “You’re going to stand here and act as though your _mommy_ didn’t get you past admissions and then call in a favor to get you this job so you could keep an eye on me? Or— or _seduce_ me? Whatever your plan is, I hardly believe you’re truly interested in the subject.”

His mouth pulls together, and he huffs out a breath. “Interesting that you assume an awful lot of my life revolves around you. In fact, this is _actually_ my study of choice, just as it was for the last four years. It seems rather pertinent to the company we’ll be running, don’t you think? I assumed you knew.”

“Why would I know?” she bites back.

Ben gives her a small shrug, and the action, whether intentional or not, tugs her just the tiniest bit closer. “I know plenty about you.”

“You know _nothing_ about me.”

“I know you’re unhappy with this arrangement, but you’re going through with it because you want a larger share of the company after the merger, and it’s a choice I respect, mostly because I know nobody’s forcing you into it. I know you only came home three times during your four-year degree, and you avoided me at all seven of the holiday parties we both attended.” 

She bites at the inside of her mouth, hoping he’ll get something wrong, because more than anything, she wants him to be wrong. He pauses, working his lips, and the next part comes out like he’s frustrated. 

“I know you’ve had my number since we were teenagers and you blocked it the minute we agreed to this arrangement. I know you’ve ignored every letter I’ve sent you, even though I thought we were friends. I know you still love the color green and your favorite author is Jane Austen and I don’t know what I ever did to make you hate me, but—” 

That’s it. That’s the breaking point, the point where he’s gotten something wrong and she has to _prove_ him wrong.

As it turns out, pulling a man’s tie isn’t as charming, subtle, or attractive as dramatic romantic movies make it out to be. Rey yanks his, but all it does is make his frown deepen. Before he can ask, before it can all go even further to hell, she pulls the tie again, using it to lift herself up on her toes so she can kiss him.

Ben is so obviously startled by it, by his own fiancée kissing him on a desperate attempt to shut him up and prove him wrong, that he doesn’t even react. He doesn’t tighten his grip, doesn’t kiss her more deeply.

He just… stands there and lets her end it when she wants.

His mouth is nice. Soft, plush. His nose nudges her cheek, and it’s arguably the most chaste kiss she’s shared with anyone, but she’s inexplicably breathless when she drops back to her usual height.

Ben stares down at her, looking devastated in the best way.

“That isn’t happening again,” she says firmly. But then her eyes flick to his mouth again, and she amends, “Not unless I want it to.”

He blinks, seeming incapable of much else. Slowly, he nods. “Of course.”

“And if you keep the job with Holdo, we stay professional. I worked hard to get this position.”

He nods again. His thumb caresses at her side, where he’s still gripping her. “Anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”

“Maybe you need to be bossed,” she snaps.

Truthfully, she’s more angry with the butterflies in her stomach than with him, but that’s hardly something she plans to admit.

He looks utterly taken aback as he looks down at her. When he speaks, there’s a little sarcasm in his reply. “Yes, _Mistress_.”

They both pause the moment he says it. It’s like the phrase and all its implications catch them both on an inhale as they meet each other’s gaze. His lips have parted, like he’s worried he’s just slipped up. The expression is oddly sweet on him. Innocent, even.

There’s a shift in the air, a stirring. It’s a revelation.

Rey hums.

-*-

They fall into a strangely peaceful rhythm. A _professional_ rhythm, and it’s fine. Good, even, considering the circumstances.

By some happenstance, they live on the same block. It’s the University’s graduate housing, but Rey suspects that Leia Organa placed a call to her grandfather to ask where she’d be living for the academic year. Knowing her potential future mother-in-law, it’s a miracle they weren’t mysteriously assigned to be roommates.

But Ben keeps his distance. She sees him twice a week in Holdo’s intro literature course, and she doesn’t turn him down when he occasionally shows up with an extra coffee. He sits next to her because teacher’s assistants always sit next to each other, and not once does he hint to anyone the nature of their relationship outside of class, nor does he ever call her anything other than _my fellow teachers’ assistant,_ or occasionally, _Miss Kenobi._

Some days, when there’s a lull in class, she’ll glance over at him and feel a sense of thankfulness for his distance.

-*-

It isn’t that she won’t marry him. She will. She’d be a fool not to; a larger stake in the company that results from their families’ slow-going merger will make her set for life, and despite being annoyed with the ring and man that accompany the arrangement, she at least knows Ben and his family well enough to trust that none of them will attempt to relegate her to outdated, old-fashioned wifely expectations. 

And sometimes, late at night, when she’s tired enough so her guards are lower and her thoughts are a little less logical and more honest, Rey thinks maybe she could do worse, husband-wise. 

She never, _ever_ speaks that aloud.

(But there’s the rare night, after long stressful days, when her hand snakes between her thighs and she comes on her fingers. Sometimes she even admits—to herself, only—that in those moments of leg-quivering bliss, she can still hear him murmuring the phrase _Yes, Mistress._ )

Every time he calls her _Miss Kenobi_ , it feels like an echo of that.

Her body’s reaction leaves her furious, with both herself and _him,_ and it makes her scowl at him, has her interrupting him when she sees him in her usual spot in the library, sitting next to a laptop and a few books.

She takes the seat across from him, leaning in to whisper, “I don’t know _what_ you’re up to, but if you’re here to enact some sort of planned seduction—”

Ben interrupts her, coughing into his coffee cup. “I’m flattered,” he laughs. “But I haven’t the slightest idea how I’d go about seducing you.” He pauses, then frowns at her, “I’m giving you space, and I’m being professional and polite, Mis—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she snaps, glancing around the library to be sure nobody heard. “That’s _incredibly_ inappropriate.”

“I was going to say _Miss Kenobi,”_ Ben says lowly, the corners of his mouth curling, just the slightest bit. “Interesting, where your mind went.”

Her cheeks burn, but she refuses to let him have the last word.

“Is it?” she prods, not entirely faking her curiosity. “Interesting?”

Ben clears his throat. “Very.”

“Oh.” 

-*-

Maybe it’s his hands. Or his smile. Or the way he blushes on the rare moment when she catches him staring.

Or maybe it’s the folded-up stationary with a paraphrased line from one of her favorite books, written in Ben’s calligraphic hand, that gets slipped between the pages of her moleskin journal.

_I’ve come here with no expectations, only to profess… that my heart is, and will always be, yours._

-*-

They have weekly meetings, too, but those come with fewer quiet moments during which they could exchange pleasantries. Meetings with Professor Holdo are often fifty-minute hurricanes crammed between classes, full of run-downs regarding homework assignments and lecture slide preparations, mid-term writing and going over questions students have emailed. She and Ben sit shoulder-to-shoulder, or as shoulder-to-shoulder as any normal person can be next to a behemoth, and she never even has time to complain about it nor question why she’s not complaining.

They settle into an easy routine of “I’ll grade this half, you grade that half,” emails, “I think you’re grading these too harshly,” emails, and “Butt out, Solo, I’ll grade however I like, we both know Holdo is scaling,” emails.

The tense moments are rare and easily avoided, and the memory of that word in his mouth, the thought of those beautiful words written in his hand… it’s all pushed aside.

At least, she _tries_ to push it aside.

-*-

When he quoted _my heart is yours,_ that was only expressing fondness, right?

Rey sits on a bench one afternoon, not eating her lunch during a chilly break between a class and a meeting, and she spends longer wondering about that than she’d like to admit.

-*-

One chilly day, when they’re alone and grading essays together in Professor Holdo’s office, Rey’s on her third cup of coffee, a mix of jittery and exhausted. She rereads the same paragraph three times before realizing her mistake, and sighs, taking a brief break to sip at her cooling coffee while she stares out the window at the drizzling fall rain.

She puffs out her cheeks, rests her chin on her fist, her elbow on the table as she looks over at Ben. He’s grading diligently, as expected. 

“Thank you,” she finally murmurs. “Thank you for not… pushing things. I won’t lie, when you showed up here I worried you expected us to move in together, jump into wedding planning,” she waves her hand, gesturing to nothing. “All of that. But you haven’t. Thank you.”

Ben glances up, tilting his head. “Why would you thank me for showing you the bare minimum of respect you deserve? You said _professional._ ”

“Yes, I did,” she mumbles, nodding. “That’s true.”

His mouth tilts in a half-smile, just before he returns to grading. She watches, an unfamiliar fondness in her chest as she sees him pushing the thick-framed glasses up the ridge of his nose.

Rey leans back in her seat, folding her arms over her chest.

“You’re very quiet about this stuff, though. The personal stuff.”

Ben doesn’t glance to her. He hums, and only replies, “Yes, I am.” Then he jumps right into frowning at the paper in front of him, and mutters, “You’re still grading too harshly. Didn’t Professor Holdo say to stop taking off points for not using an Oxford Comma?”

She blinks. “That’s ridiculous and we both know it. Don’t change that grade.”

“Bossy,” he huffs through a smile.

Without stopping to realize she’s breaking her own rule, Rey fires back, “You like it.”

His gaze cuts to hers.

“Mm.” His mouth twitches at one corner. “Maybe. _Miss Kenobi._ ”

The look she gives him is a scolding one; hopefully he doesn’t notice her blush.

Later that night, once she’s showered off the day and wrapped in warm pajamas, she briefly panics at the thought that she may have missed an assignment due date. In a rush, she drops her burgundy moleskin journal.

Another note, quoting another favorite, flutters to the floor.

She spends a long time reading it.

_If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more._

That night, she barely feels guilty when she cries out his name, squeezing around her own fingers.

For a few minutes after, she stares up at her ceiling, almost in shock. She hadn’t expected to come at the thought of him on his knees at her feet, his eyes wide as he asks _so_ sweetly if he can taste her. She hadn’t expected it to take only the thought of his enthusiastic mouth on her cunt to come harder than she has in a long time.

She hadn’t expected his voice, politely murmuring her name, to do quite so much.

-*-

 _Loved,_ she thinks— _obsesses over,_ more accurately—a few days later. He’d written _loved._

Rey stares unabashedly at him during a lecture and wonders how she missed that.

Did he fall in love with her when they were children? Was it when they were teens and barely old enough to understand the business-related discussions they’d been excused from, when Ben took her hand and whisked her around his family’s grounds so she could see the gardens? Was it the holiday party before they both went to University, when they both ended up under mistletoe and he noticed her nerves, and kissed her hand instead?

Or was it after their arrangement, when she avoided him? Was it during the years she spent ignoring his letters, his offers to date, to see if they might fall into it naturally?

Maybe someday she’ll ask.

-*-

Once she opens her eyes to it (he wrote _loved,_ and her mind is still reeling from it days later), she notices it constantly, and everything changes. 

He signs his emails to her _Yours, Ben._ He backs her up, rather than undermining her, when she makes a case to Professor Holdo regarding the need to scale grades. He covers for her in the discussion sections they lead for three whole days when she’s out sick with a bad cold, and he follows up his _of course I’ll cover you_ email with a text— _Would you mind if I stopped by your apartment with soup?_

Rey admits to herself, that day he drops off soup and holds back from being anything but a caring coworker, that maybe she’s just never _wanted_ to see the good in him.

The ring fits, she discovers that evening, after he leaves.

She puts it back in her nightstand drawer, but…

But it fits.

-*-

The thing is, he _isn’t_ always sweet. Respectful, yes. Sweet… not always. 

He has _moods._ It takes an entire month of working alongside him for Rey to figure them out. He has good moods that involve teasing and joking, smiles and blushes. He has thoughtful moods, during which he’s quiet and listening, a little stuck in his own head. He has days when he’s frustrated with everything and doesn’t explain why; his annoyance only comes out in annoyed huffs and a rolling jaw, crossed arms or fists tensing at his sides.

This is one of _those_ days.

Holdo’s office door shuts behind them after a mini-lecture on how the two of them need to pick up the pace with what they’re covering in discussion sections, and while Ben was moody before, now he’s really in his frustrated-storm cloud state. 

“If we go through materials any faster, we may as well be giving them SparkNotes-summaries,” he snaps, storming down the hallway toward the small study room they’ve reserved for a grading session. “What are we supposed to do, _not_ take the time to answer their questions? Am I mistaken, or is it our job to help the students understand the course materials? This—”

Before he really gets going, Rey grabs his hand, tugging him into the empty study room. She closes the door behind him, shooting him a _look._

“What?” he snaps.

“You need to take a breath and consider it,” she insists, her mouth curling into a frown. “I get being frustrated with her, I _do,_ but Ben, this is an intro class. Most of our students are freshman and not even majoring in English or Literature. She might have a point; we can’t take the time with these materials that we might in a higher-level class.”

Ben scowls. “Quantity over quality? Great.”

“It’s an _intro_ course,” she repeats, gritting her teeth. 

His scoff causes her to snap.

“Don’t you _dare_ scoff at me, especially when I’m right.”

At that, he hesitates. 

And then he does it again, and somehow she just _knows_ he’s doing it to see her reaction.

“Sit down and start grading quizzes,” she says lowly. There’s a plan piecing itself together in her mind—one that’s insane and maybe a little cruel, but she’s strangely determined to see it through.

Ben frowns at her apparent non-reaction and pulls out a seat at the small circular table that sits in the middle of the mostly empty study room. They’re on the second floor, she notes. Nobody will see this through a window.

His gaze jerks to her at the sound of the ancient door locking.

“Grade the quizzes, Ben.”

It’s lucky she favors skirts. He watches as she takes the seat across from him, slouching a little more than she would normally.

Raising a brow at her, he asks, “Aren’t you helping?”

Under the table, she spreads her legs, letting her skirt bunch at her upper thighs. Ben doesn’t seem to figure out what’s going on, even as she tugs the cotton gusset aside and slides her fingers over her labia. He can’t see any of it, but when she lets out a shaky breath, biting her lip as she circles a single finger around her entrance, it hits him.

Ben’s eyes widen. “Oh. Um. Do you… do you want help with that?”

“Yes, I want your help,” she says, breathless, just as she dips a finger inside herself.

“You do?” He sounds _so_ hopeful. “You’re sure?”

Rey can’t help but smile as she says, “I want your help… grading those quizzes,” and then watches his face fall. She thrusts her finger, rolling her hips a little, and sighs out, “Shame this isn’t your finger. Yours are so much bigger than mine. But that’s okay. I can come like this.”

A grin grows across her mouth as she watches his throat bob, his eyes laser-focused on her while he clenches his pen in his hand. The cylinder of plastic looks like it might snap in his grip.

She lifts her hand to her mouth, scooting a little further down the seat so she can tilt her hips for easier access. She makes a point of staring him down while she sucks at two of her fingers, licking and soaking them before reaching back down and gliding them gently over her clit.

Her moan is only a _little_ theatric, but Ben looks dumbstruck.

“You should get to grading,” she murmurs, sighing as she eases a finger back in and works it in time with the circles over her clit. “I think I’m going to take my time.”

He says her name in a breath, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing—which is, probably to his frustration, very little. He can see the way her chest rises and falls, he can see the way her head drops back against the chair, he can watch her cheeks flush and her eyes squeeze closed. But that’s about it.

Once she closes her eyes, it’s easy to get lost in it, lost in a fantasy where he’s touching himself to this and then begs her to let him come. Her mouth falls open as she slides another finger inside herself, curling it and thrusting it just the way she likes.

“Holy fuck,” he whispers. “Rey, let me help. I could use my mouth, I promise it would feel good, please—”

Her eyes stay closed while she grins. “I’m sure it would, but I’m all set, thanks.”

Ben sounds _distraught._ “You… you’re just going to get off while I’m watching? I can’t help? But—”

“Maybe if you hadn’t scoffed at me, you’d know what I taste like by now,” she interrupts, lifting her head to meet his eyes. She goes a little faster, circling over herself, and pants out, “What makes you think I need help?”

“Nothing,” he admits, his expression turning into something forlorn and regretful. “But I hope you ask for it.”

“Mm, maybe next time,” Rey pants. Her nose wrinkles as she gets close. “If you’re good. We’ll see.”

They make eye contact when she comes, when she cries out, clenching around her own fingers. Somewhere amongst the mix of obscenities that fall from her mouth, she ends up moaning his name, maybe because she can appreciate the self-control it took him to stay on his side of the table.

Ben snaps his pen in half, staring at her.

She recovers before he does, cleaning her fingers with her own mouth before using the hand-sanitizer from her bag. She readjusts her skirt and sits up as though nothing happened, then clears her throat, gesturing to the quizzes. “Pass me some, I’ll help with grading.”

He stares and stares, taking in a long, steadying breath before passing her the top half of the pile.

There’s a thorough apology waiting in her inbox when she gets home later that night, along with suggestions for how they can get through the required material _and_ make themselves available to answer all the questions their students may have.

Rey replies via text. A simple, _That was very good, Ben. Thank you._

His reply comes quickly. _I can’t stop thinking about earlier._

She leans back on her couch, pausing the comforting baking show playing on her TV. Biting her mouth closed, she texts back, _I want you to think about it. Think about when you touch yourself. I want you to, tonight. If you have time. Think about how I said your name._

Ben sends back an eloquent _fuck_ with no capitalization or punctuation, so unlike him it makes her laugh at how wound up he must be. 

_And send me a picture when you do,_ she replies.

He does a couple hours later, and once she stops staring and comprehends the size of his hands as he grasps his thick cock…

Suddenly, she’s not laughing. She studies that picture for a while, until it makes her mouth go dry. 

She _agonizes_ over how to reply. He can’t know how tempted she is to text him and ask him to come over and fuck her, he _can’t_ know how her breath quickens at a picture of his cock. _Jesus Christ,_ she types out, and then deletes the words. _You would ruin me,_ she tries next, but deletes that, too. _DTF?_ gets deleted immediately. 

_Your cock is perfect. I want to lick it until you beg me to let you come,_ she types. 

Her finger hovers over _send._

She sucks in a breath and clicks it, then turns and shrieks into a pillow because she realizes as soon as it sends that she’ll have to wait for a reply.

Ben’s response is five phone calls spaced over two minutes, none of which she answers.

-*-

The next time she sees him, he can’t look her in the eyes without blushing.

It’s both adorable and the hottest thing she’s seen.

(Aside from his hand, wrapped around his own cock.)

-*-

Snow is already on the ground for November’s break, a four-day weekend during which they’ve agreed to power through grading midterms together. Ben put forward the suggestion of his apartment; she was quick to insist upon the library, a neutral territory where temptation might not be as strong.

Plus, she’s fallen in love with the space. With its absurdly tall shelves that tower over her, its elaborately patterned rugs in muted jewel-tones. Most of her studying and writing happens at home on her couch with her books, papers, and laptop spread across her coffee table, but the library has its advantages.

Rey scans her badge at the door that Wednesday evening, mere hours after most students have left campus, and nods to Ben as she spots him already sitting at a table. A pile of ungraded midterms sits before him—all seventy-three, waiting to be graded.

“You didn’t want to go home for Thanksgiving?” Ben frowns, just as she sits and pushes a cup of coffee in his direction. “I know you don’t normally, but…”

She shrugs. “Not much for big events when I can avoid them.”

Ben presses his lips together, nodding. “I know. I don’t like them, either. Maybe if holidays were a quiet family dinner that’d be one thing, but it’s never that, is it?”

“No,” she laughs, taking the top half of the stapled finals. “No, I guess not. Though I will say, at least your mother always has an open bar at her parties. My grandfather’s always insisted champagne and wine is all anyone will want, anyway.”

She pauses, suddenly aware they’re sharing a brief smile, a bit of a laugh, and she’s no longer sure where the line is between _professional_ and not. Maybe there isn’t a line once someone’s seen you come.

Clearing her throat, she gestures to the midterms. “What do you think, we take half each, then swap and review each other’s grading?”

“Sure,” he agrees, “Though I doubt we’ll get through them all tonight.” He frowns at the stack. “Might want to make this a long-weekend activity.”

“Well, I didn’t plan to sit here and grade seventy-three nine-page finals all at once.”

He huffs a laugh and gives her a smile, but she pushes the sweetness of it from her mind and gets to grading, her red pen in hand. The first hour passes easily, with five passing grades and one that probably isn’t, unless Ben decides she’s been too harsh. 

It starts as she flips to page two of midterm number seven.

The tapping.

Ben has this habit of keeping his pen pursed between his lips, an utterly distracting habit, but when he gets caught up in something, he does something _much_ more infuriating.

She tries to block out the tapping of his red pen against the wooden table beneath them. It’s a simple bic pen, not even the fancy fountain pen kind—just a cylinder of clear plastic with red ink running through the middle, like the one he snapped while watching her masturbate, and it is _destroying_ her concentration.

Rey huffs. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“The tapping,” she mutters, not taking her eyes off the page. “Stop that.”

He hums quietly, murmuring an apology, and they go back to their blissfully silent grading.

Rey gets through two more, feeling a little pleased with her finished pile, before it starts again. It’s louder this time. Her gaze flicks to him, to his absentminded biting of his thick bottom lip and his soft eyes with long lashes and his long hair tucked back behind one ear. He’s concentrating so thoroughly, he doesn’t seem to realize how infuriating he is.

“Ben,” she utters. “Stop it. That’s driving me crazy.”

His eyes rise from the paper in front of him and narrow at her. “The pen?”

“ _Yes_ the pen, that incessant tapping keeps distracting me. I already asked you to stop, would you just _behave?”_

At the word, his lips part. It’s a little faint, a little challenging, when he asks, “Or what?”

Two words, and they’re so laden with _something,_ Rey forgets anything else. A little voice in her mind insists he’s _challenging_ her, and that can’t be had. No. He should know better by now. He doesn’t get to come here and invade her life and be horribly likable _and_ challenge her.

“Be _good._ I told you what would happen if you were. _”_

Ben purses his lips, replying carefully, “What might happen if I apologized and promised to never tap a pen in your presence again?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

There’s a little quirk to his mouth. Lowly, he says, “I’m _very_ sorry if my bad habit distracted you, Miss Kenobi. It won’t happen again. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Subtly, she glances around, finding what she expects—nothing. Not a soul. No students, no professors, not in the secluded area they picked. Looking back to Ben, whose expression is becoming more knowing by the second, she says, “Apologize.”

“Apologize… _how?”_

Rey leans back in her chair, tilting her head as she decides. The worst he could do is say _no,_ but otherwise, she knows him well enough to know he’s harmless.

“Apologize sweetly. With your mouth.”

Something flashes in his eyes as he seems to understand her meaning. Maybe not surprise, or at least not _just_ surprise. Surprise mixed with something darker. He stays right in his seat, ignores her order entirely, and _oh_ if that doesn’t make something flare inside her.

“Get on your knees and apologize,” Rey whispers, her mouth curling at one corner. “You ruined my concentration. The least you could do is fix it.”

His throat bobs, and there’s a faint flush over his normally pale cheeks. “An… _apology_ will help your concentration?”

“No, Ben,” she deadpans. “An _orgasm_ will help my concentration.” She perches her chin on her knuckles, her elbows resting on the table as she stares him down. “Is that not common? I always feel more focused afterward.”

Within a few seconds, his cheeks redden further. There’s a rasping intake of breath from his side of the table, while Rey waits to see what he’ll do. Part of her wonders if he’ll even fit under the table, but… it’s a rather tall surface. He _might_ fit. 

He glances around just as she did, and then grins slowly.

Before she can fully process that she’s just destroyed whatever line they once had, he’s pushing out his chair and climbing under the table. The moment she feels his fingers slide along the inside of her knees over her hosiery, there’s a fluttering in her belly, and she wonders what on _earth_ she’s just done.

Maybe it shouldn’t seem so reckless, so scandalous to do such a thing with a man who is, effectively, her fiance, but—

His hands slide up her thighs, finding the clips holding her hosiery under her skirt. The noise he makes is barely audible, something like a groan, deepening when Rey slides down in her chair to give him better access. She tries to avoid slouching, but normally she _also_ avoids men; sometimes exceptions are made, apparently.

He murmurs against her thigh, “Now what, Rey?”

“What did you call me?”

The word comes out heavy, laden with want. “Now what, _Mistress?_ May I? Do you want just my mouth, or—”

She spreads her thighs, just enough to get his attention.

“Make me come,” she whispers. “Mouth only.”

He does. He doesn’t take another moment before wrapping his hands around her thighs to pull her closer, tugging the gusset covering her aside. He apologizes _twice,_ with her head hanging back over her chair and her fingers tugging at his hair, her other hand clapped over her mouth.

-*-

It’s impossible to focus once she has the image in her head of his glasses left sitting atop his ungraded mid-terms, his head buried between her thighs. Once she knows the feeling of her fingers brushing through his hair, of his mouth covering her cunt, his tongue lapping and teasing at every bit of her, it’s a struggle to think of anything else.

She catches herself staring at him and his lips, still wet from her, after he returns to grading.

He licks his lips slowly without taking his eyes from the page before him. His subsequent low hum ruins her.

The note she finds upon returning home makes her blush.

-*-

The routine changes. Not by a lot, but in one _very_ specific way; the next time they need to prep for a discussion section they’re teaching, Rey suggests they meet at his apartment. A meeting is unnecessary. Most weeks, they figure it out over emails, but Ben doesn’t question her suggestion.

Rey expects his place to be spartan. The obligatory bookshelf or two, necessary furniture, a well-loved coffeemaker, and _maybe_ a plant his mother insisted upon to brighten the place up.

She’s wrong.

When he holds the door open for her to his third-floor apartment, a nervous smile on his lips, Rey gets as far as the entry before she stops short. He has all those things she expected, at least as far as she can see from the entry, but there’s so much more. Hardwood floors are covered in patterned deep blue carpets, warm silver lamps are spread around to cast a rosy glow on walls covered with art and family pictures. Black slippers are kicked aside next to a couch, on which a red plaid blanket is balled up, as though he’s been covered up and watching TV. His two expected bookshelves end up being six, but they’re smaller, stacked high, not organized, and spread throughout the open-concept.

It’s _lived in._ It’s comfortable.

It puts her larger, colder apartment to shame.

She wanders a little while Ben’s getting them drinks, and she sees a framed picture sitting on a bookshelf filled with historical fiction and romance. The picture is of them, rosy-cheeked and grinning at a holiday party so, so many years ago.

Ben picks that moment to come out of his kitchen, holding a bottle of wine and two glasses. He sees what she’s been staring at and smiles a little wider.

Maybe it’s the smile that results in her taking the bottle from his hand and setting it aside so she can direct him by tugging at the front of his button-up. She eases him onto his couch with her hands spread across his chest, and there’s a gentle surprise in his eyes that makes her climb into his lap, slide his glasses off, and press her mouth to his.

It takes her murmuring, “You can touch, it’s okay,” before his hands find her hips. It’s half testing a theory and fully true when she mumbles against his mouth, “You were so—” Her lips slide over his, her overwhelming want to kiss him again overtaking what she wants to say. “So good,” she breathes out between kisses. “In the library. So good, Ben. You were amazing.”

The soft, throaty noise he makes—while patiently waiting for another kiss—confirms things.

Rey leaves one more against his mouth, something sweet and brief, before she sits back in his lap. Her mind reels with questions, half of them a variation on _What on earth is happening?,_ and the other half wondering what else she’s right about.

For a moment, she expects him to lean in and continue their kissing, or maybe pick her up and turn them over and press her back into his velvet-y couch. But he waits, eyes wide, questions written all over his face.

She bites at the inside of her cheek. “You seem confused.”

“Maybe a little,” he answers hesitantly. “Not that I mind.” His throat bobs. “I’m wondering what this means for us. Are we…”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I just know _this_ is something I can do,” she says, giving a little shrug. “Truthfully, I don’t _want_ to like you, but you don’t make that easy. So… I don’t know. This is the level of _something_ I’m comfortable with right now. Is that okay with you?”

Ben’s answer is quick and breathless. “Of course it is. Whatever makes you comfortable.”

She shifts on his lap, making eye contact with one of the straining buttons on his shirt. “I get nervous when you hold me,” she admits. “With you, it— it’s just—”

“Everything?”

Her eyes flick to his. “Maybe. Or… it’s feeling that way, yes.”

“It’s too much? You’re scared to lose yourself? Surrender to it?”

Rey huffs quietly. “Aren’t you?”

“I’ve been lost to you for a long time,” he whispers. Sweet, soulful eyes search over her face, resulting in the most breathtaking smile she’s ever seen. “Surrendering to you… it feels like I belong. It feels _good._ Like you’re the answer to a question I’ve never known how to ask.” 

Rey leans back on his lap, and he pauses. Whether it’s because he needs the time or he knows she needs it, having the moment to process is appreciated.

“If you need more control, take it,” he says gently, a hint of teasing slipping into his tone. He works his mouth for a second, suddenly shy. “I’m more than willing. If that’s something you’re interested in.”

The thought makes her shiver.

“I will.”

If he’s disappointed when she climbs off his lap and settles on a chair rather than next to him on the couch, it doesn’t show. Save for the redness of his cheeks and tips of his ears, visible only when he brushes hair behind one, he acts as though they’re just planning a discussion.

Ben gives her time to breathe, and it’s a gift she didn’t realize she’d need.

The conversation takes twice the time it needs to, but it’s interspersed with his chuckling laughter and her playfully ranting about the students who watch the movies rather than read assigned books—not that she never made the same choice, but sometimes it’s painfully obvious. He listens to her strange four-minute tangent on the importance of Oxford commas and how there’s always that _one_ person who refuses to use it, and her eye twitches when she grades their papers because _technically_ she can’t take points off for it.

He walks her to the door and waits while she buttons up her jacket. With each of her buttons, he looks increasingly in need of a goodnight kiss.

Rey pauses at his door, barely a foot away from him, and asks, “Are you going to kiss me before I leave?”

She watches, curious as he works his jaw, just before shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“You haven’t told me I can.”

Rey hums, taking a step closer. She cups his face, smoothing a thumb over his bottom lip. “That’s very good, Ben. You’re much sweeter than I realized,” she admits. There’s a little tilt to his mouth; she traces it with a fingertip. “So good,” she breathes. “So patient. So… well behaved for me.”

His eyes widen, just enough to be noticeable. His only reply is a subtle nod.

Rey doesn’t hesitate to lift on her toes to kiss him. She twines her arms around his neck, licking the seam of his lips until he opens up for her, pliant as she licks into his mouth. She kisses him until he sighs against her, his mouth sliding over hers.

The longer she kisses him, the harder it is to pull away and leave.

-*-

 _You pierce my soul,_ the curving black lettering quotes. _I am half agony, half hope._

She knows the rest of the quote without reading it. She reads his most recent note anyway, over and over again while she sits at her desk, not for a moment bothering with her own assignments.

_I have loved none but you._

-*-

Their routine changes again. Or, more accurately, it _develops._ They establish safe words over texts that make her blush, but Ben seems content to leave his pleasure in her hands.

She’s better at noticing his moods, even with the briefest study of him as he sits beside her in class or discussion. She knows, when he tenses his jaw or anxiously taps his pen on his thigh, trying to be comfortable while squeezing into one of the comparatively tiny lecture hall seats, that he needs something.

It happens once or twice a week, sometimes more; after classes, meetings, or discussions, she’ll pull him into a closet-sized private study room and encourage him down to his knees.

Sometimes when her head rests back against a wall, her leg slung over his shoulder, she’ll surprise herself with what slips from her mouth.

 _This what you needed, sweetheart?,_ she’ll pant through a smile, soothing a hand through his hair, _Your mouth on me? You’re so good, aren’t you, Ben?_

Alternatively, when he’s pissed her off: _You know what happens when you tap that pen, what did I say?,_ she’ll mutter. She’s less gentle then, holding his face against her cunt while she rolls her hips. _Harder, two fingers this time, don’t stop until I come._

The first time she’s firm with him and issues orders, she comes so hard she has to bite her fist so nobody hears. She has to pull him away from her cunt, and when she looks down at him, his chest is rising and falling like he’s just been running. He stares at her like she’s a fucking dream.

“Was that too…”

“No,” he pants. “No, no, it was perfect.” 

Rey swallows at the sight of the mess she’s left on his swollen mouth and his chin. “Do you need—”

He interrupts, his gaze dropping like he’s suddenly shy. His hand moves to his cock, still trapped in his slacks, and he clears his throat, his cheeks flushing as he shakes his head. And _oh,_ if that doesn’t make her grin. 

She takes his face in her hands and tilts it up, bending down to kiss him while he’s still on his knees. Against his mouth she mumbles, “Good, Ben. But next time, ask my permission first.”

He shivers while they kiss.

-*-

It’s strange, realizing she _likes_ his company. Not just sexually, not just thanks to the things he does with his mouth, but he’s… nice to be around. Maybe that shouldn’t be surprising, but Rey catches herself, a little stunned by her own actions after she texts him one night, asking if he’ll come with her to a grad student mixer that’s happening later in the week.

He meets her there and smiles breathlessly when she readjusts his tie before they go in.

There’s something about him in a suit, something about the way he politely keeps his hand at her back, something about the way he corrects a person when they assume she’s a girlfriend and not _also_ a grad student, something about the way he keeps referring to her as _Miss Kenobi._

He’s just… _so_ fucking polite. 

Of all the things she expected to be turned on by, she’d expected it to be the suit, his _shoulders,_ his mouth, but _no._

Half an hour into making conversation with their peers, confirming over and over that _yes, working with Professor Holdo is great,_ and dodging a few too many Rebel Publishing-related questions, Rey slides her hand into his, pulling him out of the small reception hall and toward a private bathroom, down a hall nobody’s in. She does a quick glance when she gets to the door, checking to make sure nobody’s watching, and then pulls him in behind her.

It’s a fancier private bathroom with a door-lock, a clean counter, nice lighting, and one _slightly_ confused man who looks like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up.

She lifts herself to sit on the counter, sliding her dress up around the tops of her thighs. “I’ve been wondering,” she starts, grabbing his tie so she can guide him closer, between her legs, “How you’ll feel. I think you’re going to fill me up, stretch me so nicely, aren’t you?”

“ _Here?”_

With a grin, she nods up at him, pulling him closer; she catches his lips, reveling in the way he pauses, only briefly, and then sinks into the kiss, groaning into her mouth. His hands slide up her thighs, and she spreads them, making room for him. She unzips his pants for him, and once he finds she’s neglected to wear underwear, he _does_ fill her up and stretch her better than she hoped. They both stop when he’s all the way in, and Ben stares, wide-eyed at where they’re joined.

“I want you to fuck me slowly,” she says faintly, locking her legs around them while her head spins with how massive he feels. “And if you come before I do, I want you to finish me off with your mouth.”

Ben raises an eyebrow as he looks up at her. “It’d be rude not to.”

He does exactly as told, and Rey tangles her fingers in his hair, keeping his mouth pressed hard to hers while he fucks her, bracing his hand on either side of her, bracketing her in. She comes on his cock, shuddering through his slow, unyielding, and impossibly deep thrusts that end in his soft moaning into her mouth. It feels like it takes ages for them both to recover; by the time they both catch their breath, enough time has passed so _someone_ should knock on the door to see if the room’s occupant is okay. 

“Did you really not wear underwear?” he whispers, sounding stunned.

She huffs a laugh against his chest. “I told you I’ve been wondering how you’d feel. Thought it’d be easier to find out if I wasn’t wearing underwear.”

“Mm, I guess,” he nods, but he slides down to kneel between her legs before continuing, “Do you mind? Unless you _want_ to go back to the mixer with come dripping down your thighs. I can’t say I’d complain.”

Her breath catches, but she nods. “Getting me off and licking me clean, too? Be careful, a woman could get used to this.”

The way he smiles into her thigh wrinkles the corner of his eyes. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

“Oh? So I was _right_ about a seduction?”

His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “You were wrong about it being intentional.”

“Good,” Rey hums. “Go ahead, then.” 

She doesn’t come again, even though she shivers with how his tongue dips into her, how he licks along her folds, swirls his tongue all over her. She _could_ come, but Rey reaches down, stopping him and cupping his face. She reaches over, grabbing one of the thick folded napkins sitting in a basket by the sink. While she gently wipes herself from his chin, she asks, “Get dinner with me? Let’s leave early. We can get takeout. Finish this at your place.”

Ben nods, and when he looks up at her with a tender gaze, Rey can’t help but breathe, “Fuck.”

His eyes narrow as he stands, glancing down at her curiously. “What?”

“I just wasn’t expecting this.”

“Sex? I thought you—”

“No, you _._ I wasn’t expecting _you.”_

When she pulls him down for another kiss, Ben smiles against her mouth.

-*-

At some point it strikes her that maybe she was never angry with Ben. Maybe she never even truly disliked him, contrary to what she claimed. The revelation hits the day after their mixer, when she’s back in her own apartment after crashing at his place. She’s resting on her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling of her bedroom. Her thoughts dart around in a frustrating, random non-pattern, and the only way she can think of to solidify them into something logical is by journaling.

Her writing is messy, black ink bleeding through the page, but her thoughts spill out as she writes to no one. She writes that maybe she simply resents the arrangement. It’s old-fashioned, but…

 _But what’s old-fashioned,_ she writes, _what’s resentment-worthy about choosing to be with someone you love?_

And then, her next revelation is that she wrote the word _love._

-*-

During their next meeting, Ben catches her staring at him.

“Something wrong?” he laughs.

Rey shakes her head, replying in a thoughtful murmur, “No, not at all.”

“Hm. You’re being quiet.”

She pauses and meets his eyes. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, I am.”

Ben hesitates at her words, but he doesn’t ask. Whether it’s out of respect for her needing space, or whether he’s concerned that he might falsely get his hopes up, Rey’s relieved he doesn’t prod. She’s also a little relieved he hasn’t noticed the ring on her finger.

 _Love,_ she’d written. _Love._

-*-

One frigid day in early December, classes are canceled due to snow. It takes only ten minutes of her moping while curled up in bed post-announcement to realize she’s disappointed she won’t see him in their scheduled meeting that afternoon.

Rey takes out her phone before she can rethink it, but there’s a text already waiting.

_Saw the email. Is it too much to say I’ll miss you today?_

Her chest floods with relief, and she texts back the first thing she thinks of. _Can I come over? Movies, food, relaxing?_

Ben’s reply is a single word. _Please._

She texts back, _I’ll be there in 30._

She rushes through a shower, tugs her damp hair in a bun, and packs an overnight bag just in case. Maybe she should have invited him to her place—it’d be easier, but she favors his place. Not because hers feels too private to invite him to, but because his is representative of _him_ and the parts of himself she never let herself get familiar with. There’s so much to learn about him, just by wandering around the space. 

On one wall of his bedroom, he has a framed photo of the tree he likes to read under at home. He has a dozen plants, all well-taken care of, and a small set of indoor-herbs growing in his kitchen. There’s a sweet little black cat that’s too shy to come out and see her, and whenever she asks how Bee-bee’s doing, Ben’s face lights up. Sometimes he’ll send her pictures of the cat curled up on his desk, keeping him company while he works on assignments.

His bookshelves are organized. Just not how she’d expect. Rather than organizing by genre or author, his are organized by _mood._ It blows her mind when he explains it—there’s a section for books that cheer him up, a section for comfort-reads that he visits often, a section for books that hurt in a good way.

He’s thoughtful in a way she never could have predicted, and in a way she decides to strive for.

So that frigid day, when she bundles up and walks through the start of a snowstorm, she makes a run to the tiny market across the street and picks up the ingredients for his mother’s lasagna, the recipe for which Leia was overjoyed to email. It’s not _exactly_ her choice for comfort food, but it’s his.

Ben’s in sweatpants and a loose dark blue long-sleeve when he opens the door, and the moment she gets her jacket off and sets down the single bag of groceries, she hugs him.

“Got ingredients for your mom’s lasagna,” she murmurs into his chest, nuzzling at the softness of his sweater. “I thought it’d be nicer than ordering takeout and making someone deliver in this snow.”

His smile is wide and _so_ sweet.

They laugh through making a mess of his kitchen, and while she leans back against a counter, watching him finish assembling the layers, she bites at her lip, because… she can _see_ it. Can see them sharing a house—a _home._ Can see them running a company together without ripping each other apart. Can see them being a team in every way.

She can see being happy with him. She _is_ happy with him.

Later, after lunch, when she’s borrowed pajamas from him and curled up at his side on the couch, her eyes start to close. She rests her head against his upper arm while he continues to watch the movie they put on, and she murmurs sleepily, “Can you believe we’re going to run Rebel Publishing together?”

“Mm, I can.” Then, a minute or two later, he squeezes his arm around her shoulder and adds an absentminded, “Did I tell you Snoke tried to poach me for First Order? Offered me a job, crazy starting salary, too.”

Rey perks up, wide-eyed. “Ben, you _didn’t.”_

“Of course I didn’t,” he says in a rush. “Not a chance. But when he reached out, I thought I’d humor him, at least hear the offer, but…” he pauses to wince. “His selling point was that I wouldn’t have to work for a woman.”

She lets out a slow breath. “But you _won’t_ be working for me. We’ll be partners.”

“I know,” he nods, “And I corrected him. But he claimed it was _beneath me._ ” Ben scoffs, shaking his head. “I rejected his offer. Blocked his number, too.”

“What an ass.”

“Fairly in-line with the pending allegations against him though,” he points out. “All the claims that say he keeps passing up women for promotions, the claims that say he shows bias in what First Order publishes…”

He stops, his jaw working again, the way it does when he’s more than a little frustrated.

“Hey,” she whispers, resting her hand on his. “We’ll never let Rebel Publishing get like that. Our families wouldn’t want that, and we’ll keep the company moving in the right direction.”

Ben glances over at her and takes in a deep breath, giving her a little nod. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, because… how could she not?

There’s still some lingering frustration in his expression when she pulls away, so Rey decides to indulge in something she’s been wanting. She slips off the couch and kneels at his feet, reveling in his look of surprised awe as she slides her hands up his thighs.

His cock is almost fully hard by the time she tugs the front of his sweatpants down. For a minute, she sits with her chin perched on his thigh, humming as she watches his cock harden and his cheeks redden, and just when Ben looks desperate enough to ask, she leans in, licking a stripe up the firm underside of him. She grins at the way his hands curl into the couch on either side of him.

“Ben,” she hums. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I’m going to see how far down my throat you go, and I want you to come down it, okay? And no trying to keep quiet. I want to hear it if you like what I’m doing.”

The choked sound he lets out, coupled with his nod, is more than enough encouragement.

She spends a while licking him, then takes him in one hand, covering him with her mouth, hollowing her cheeks as she sucks him further and further in. She revels in it, in all the little sounds he makes, in the way his hands clench the couch cushions when she bobs up and down on him. Her head spins with how wide she has to open her mouth, with the way he _tastes,_ with how much of him is still outside her mouth when the head of his cock bumps the back of her throat. Ben gasps and whines, whispers her name, chokes on moans, and it drives her further, drives her to take him deeper and make it _better_ for him.

When his thighs tense under her, she takes one of his hands from the couch and puts it at the back of her head. 

“Fuck,” he pants, “Do you mind—”

Rey shakes her head, as much as she can with him brushing at the back of her throat. His fingers curl into her hair, holding her head. To her relief, he doesn’t use the opportunity to make her go faster or deeper; he’s gentle, caressing and brushing through her hair while he watches her.

The only time his eyes leave her is when his head falls back, when he comes down her throat with a shuddering moan.

After, once she’s swallowed and licked him clean, she lets him carry her to bed, lets him fall to pieces while she sits in his lap and rides him. He kisses her desperately, and when he asks to come, she calls him _good_ and watches him fall apart.

All she can think, when she’s losing herself in him, is that it’s not nearly as scary as she expected.

-*-

Later, when they’re wrapped up together in his duvet and watching snow fall out the window, Rey listens to his heart beat.

“Marry me,” Ben murmurs. He tilts his head down toward her, and his lips part. “Please.” He takes in a breath. “You’re like a hurricane, a dream, the answer to all my questions. Please, marry me.”

She braces her hands on his chest, leaning back to stare up at him. “You know,” she says thickly, “You never asked me that before. I just got a ring after we agreed.”

“I’ll ask every day,” he promises, stroking a hand at her lower back. “If it means you’ll marry me.”

Pausing, Rey asks, “If this hadn’t already been arranged…”

“I’d still be asking,” he whispers. “You have to know. Of _course_ I’d still be asking.”

He seems to sigh with relief when a smile splits across her face. 

“Good.” 

Then she does something he doesn’t seem to expect. She lifts her hand, turning her palm to her face, and waits for him to see the ring she’s subtly been wearing for a few weeks. Softly, she says, “I’ve been wondering if you’d notice.”

“You’re wearing the ring?” he asks, sounding stunned.

“Well, I realized I love you,” she shrugs. “And it feels silly to resist something I want so badly.”

Something tender grows in his gaze. “Rey—”

“Why don’t you just kiss me?” she interrupts in a hush.

He huffs a laugh, nudging his nose to hers. “Bossy. _So_ bossy.”

She smiles softly. “I think you like it.”

“No, Rey,” he mumbles against her mouth. “I love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [ Attack's Twitter](https://twitter.com/AttackotDC)


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